


Him

by qwertysweetea



Series: The (surprisingly domestic) lives of Moriarty and Moran [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Moriarty Has a Twin, Pining, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9677474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertysweetea/pseuds/qwertysweetea
Summary: Moran is the only one who can nearly always tell the difference between Jim Moriarty and his twin, Richard. Nearly always.





	

Sebastian would have thought he was half dreaming, but he was always far too alert to allow that. He was either awake or asleep, and given that less than a minute previous he was grabbing at the gun behind the sofa cushions and was listening intently to the footsteps on the landing outside his door, he was most definitely awake.

But here he was: awake, still on his sofa in his apartment, legs spread with Moriarty’s spread that little bit wider so he could straddle him; arms around his neck, lips frantic on his. Rough too. He'd always hoped he would be that little bit rough with him.

He’d allowed his hand to grasp at his boss’s waist, grip tightening and loosening on his hips. Soft fabric – t-shirt, perfect 4am wear. It had to be going on 4am by now. His hands strayed under it. Jeans. Rough and starchy to touch. New jeans, unworn. Not perfect 4am wear but what did he expect?

No, jeans were fine. They rubbed against him enough to hurt. They were low enough to expose the waistline of his boxers too; little actor, always putting on a show.

Nails dug into the back of his neck and he moaned into it, kissing back hard. He returned the favour by scratching down his back, the other hissed.

Mistake. Big mistake. The both stopped dead because they both knew that Jim would never react.

Sebastian sighed, as close to a verbal curse as he could manage.

The other smirked against his lips, biting, licking. “You can pretend I’m him if you like.”

“Get off.” Sebastian mumbled, voice gravelly with fatigue.

The other pulled back then; enough to see him, enough to properly look at him. He was _him_ so completely, in every way but the fact that he wasn’t.

The man was pouting, and his hands slipped from his neck to press against his chest. “Come on Moran. Stop pretending you don’t want this.” He cooed, leaning back into his lips.

He did. God he did –

Sebastian’s hand came up to grip the other’s throat. A moan interrupted his first word. “Get off of me, Richard.”

– but not with him.

“I’m the same as him, you know. In every way. I could treat you the same. You don’t even have to know which of us it is. You could choose to forget.”

“No.” Sebastian replied, nothing but frustration and tiredness in his voice. He let go of the other a little harshly and waited for him to move.

He did, and he was the image of composure from the moment he stopped touching him. Richard ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, “Worth a go” and walked past him.

When he got to the door he paused, and without turning back asked: “If I hadn’t have reacted would you have realised which one of us I was?”

“I knew from the moment you entered the room. It just took me that long to realise I wasn’t interested, but I’m surprised you need me to tell you that.”

“I didn’t.” The other replied, humour in his voice. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

The door hadn’t shut before Sebastian allowed his head to fall into his hands. He rubbed his eyes hard like it would help clear his mind.

“Night night, Sebastian.”


End file.
